Some Other Beginning's End
by CharlotteBlackwood
Summary: Peter Cromwell at his lowest, at his weakest. We've seen the man who raised the strong Olivia we all know and Sirius loves, but how strong was he when his wife died? Find out.


It had only taken a second for his entire life to change. Albus Dumbledore walked into his London home, frowning, a sad look in his blue eyes, news on his lips that Peter knew in his heart that he didn't want to hear. But he let Albus in, took his cloak, offered him a glass of mead, sat him down in the drawing room, told Drizza to take the girls into the next room for a moment, because Peter Cromwell was meeting with one of the most important men in the wizarding world and he didn't need two small children at his feet. He had an inkling they wouldn't understand the gravity of the discussion, anyway.

"Peter," Dumbledore said softly, setting down his glass, "I'm so sorry."

"No," whispered Peter. "No, Albus, don't say that to me. Do you have any idea what happened after you delivered the news about Eoladra?"

"Yes, Mr. Morecomb's unfortunate transformation of character has worried many," Dumbledore whispered. "You've heard the rumors, I'm sure, that the state is thinking of taking Eva out of his custody, perhaps putting her with you or finding a nice family where she can be safe…"

"I won't let them take away his last bit of her, Albus," hissed Peter. "And Merlin knows, I won't be the one they hand her two. He would never forgive me. Anyway, we're not here to talk about Grizzly. I assume you have news for me. I assume you can tell me why my wife has been missing for almost a week now?"

"Aindora's body was found this morning," Dumbledore said, and Peter thought he saw a ghost of a tear trail down the old man's face. "There was nothing you could have done, Peter. She knew this would happen. I know she told you about the prophecy."

"That prophecy," spat Peter, "was made three hundred years ago. There's absolutely no way they can say it was her, or that it's her family…"

Dumbledore sighed and stood, pacing the drawing room. They both knew Peter was feeding himself empty words, attempting to pretend as though his girls would be safe, that Aindora's death wasn't some sort of divine structure that made one of his daughters one of the most sought after wizarding weapons of all time. Silence was heavy between them for a long while, the minutes ticking on as Albus paced and Peter sipped his mead. Was this how being a widower was supposed to feel?

"I remember the first time I kissed her, Albus," he whispered, his voice shaking almost as much as his hands. "We were thirteen. I wanted so badly to impress her."

"Yes, I know," said Albus wryly. "It's funny how thirteen-year-old boys think that Sticking their lips with the girl they like is either impressive or romantic. That was an excellent Sticking Charm, however. I will commend you for that."

Peter smiled wistfully.

"We were in the hospital wing for six hours before she could get us separated. And Aindora wanted nothing to do with me again until we were sixteen. She agreed to date me again after I wrote her all of those silly love poems with the pathetic charmed doodles and I thought that nothing could ever kill the high I was on that day after our first date, when she agreed to go steady with me. I mean, she was so different from the other girls. She was always such a lady."

"That's very true," said Albus with a soft smile. "Elegant and poised even at eleven, but she shared your talent for trouble, if I remember correctly."

"Ah, that prank war was rigged," said Peter with a watery chuckle, hastily wiping his eyes. "You can't beat a girl, though, as I came to learn, even if she is a Ravenclaw."

"Especially if she's a Ravenclaw, my dear man," said Dumbledore with a laugh. "I think you're forgetting her dear friend Aludra."

"Ugh," Peter moaned. "How could I forget? I'd never been so embarrassed. Ah, well."

He drank a few more sips of his mead, forcing his mind from memories, or trying, at least. There were things he needed to tend to, things that had to be accomplished, things that must be dealt with.

"The girls," he croaked out. "Are they safe in London?"

"No, I shouldn't think so," said Albus sadly, but honestly. "You are capable of making other arrangements, I think?"

Peter nodded. The Cromwell Manor was secluded, and one of the most difficult to find places in all of England. All the old pureblood homes were: better to escape persecution from Muggles if they were ever discovered. The one exception, of course, was the Potters, but they always were an exception. Peter thought they rather flaunted that point.

"Well, then," said Albus, "I'll be in touch about funeral arrangements. She had mentioned to me that she wanted her service held at Hogwarts, and I rather like the idea. I don't know if you two ever discussed…?"

"We did," said Peter shortly. "That sounds lovely, Albus. I'll let you know when I've gone in to see someone about her will and we can talk then. Firstly, I need to think about the girls' safety. Merlin, what am I going to tell them? What can I possibly say to Olivia?"

As though on a cue, a small child with jet-black hair down to her waist and her mother's striking green eyes walked in with her arms wrapped tightly around a blanket and her thumb in her mouth like they had tried so hard to get her not to do. Her mother… well, before she had died, her mother had taken to putting things like vinegar on her thumb to keep her from sucking it, but Olivia just sucked it off and continued putting it into her mouth. Peter didn't have the heart to tell her to remove it now.

"Livia, dear, I thought I told Drizza to put you to bed."

She looked up at him with her big green eyes, those eyes her mother had given to her, and muttered sleepily, "When's Mummy coming home?"

Peter bit his lips and felt the tears filling his eyes. He had no idea what to say to her. How on earth could he tell his daughter that her mother was never coming back when he still wasn't ready to admit it to himself?

"Livia?" said Albus softly. "Do you remember me?"

She nodded and said, "You're the good old man that Mummy and Daddy like."

Albus completely shocked Peter with what he did next. He went over to Olivia, scooped her up into his arms as if she was a stack of parchment, and sat back down in his armchair, setting her carefully on his lap.

"Your mother had something very bad happen to her," Albus whispered. "Some bad people hurt her, and her body stopped working. When your body stops working, that's called 'death'. She can't come back, I'm afraid. But she would want you to know that she loves you very much, and that while it's okay to be sad, you have to be strong for your father and little sister, all right? You're the woman in charge of the house now."

Peter couldn't help himself. He was crying a flood of tears now, not even bothering to wipe them from his eyes as his little girl looked up at Albus, trying to understand what had just been said.

"Stopped working?" she said. "She's not coming back?"

"No, I'm afraid not," said Albus, his voice choking a little. "It makes me very sad. I cared about your mother very much."

Olivia nodded.

"Where is she?"

Albus didn't miss a beat. He placed his hand over her chest and whispered, "She's in here, Livia. She's in your heart, and she'll always be watching over you, loving you."

Olivia smiled and said, "What will happen to the men who made her stop working?"

"I don't know," said Albus softly. "Nothing good, I think. But you know something? It's rather late right now. You'll be no help at all to your father if you can't keep your eyes open tomorrow. Why don't I tuck you into bed again?"

She nodded and climbed off his lap, allowing him to take her hand as she led him off to her bedroom. As soon as she left the room, Peter let out a heartbroken sob, wiping his face feverishly, shaking from head to toe. Aindora was gone; she wasn't coming back. There was nothing anyone could do to bring her back. Had he told her he loved her before she went to visit her father? They had had that horrible fight, the same one they always did when she went to see her family. Had they made up? He couldn't remember now, but it felt so important all of a sudden that he had made up with her, kissed her goodbye, apologized. He didn't want his last memory of her to be a fight.

He would need to move the girls tomorrow, he thought, setting down his empty glass and moving to the shelf where he kept the family pictures. There were dozens of pictures of Olivia and Anne-Claire, several of them all together as a family. His favorite, though, was tucked away in the back, fading and falling apart from age and over-handling. It was a small photograph of himself and Aindora at the age of seventeen, just after she had agreed to marry him. The world had been different then, so full of joy and endless possibilities, and in that moment he had been on top of it all. With just a few years more, how different things might have been. They could have had another child or two, moved to New Zealand like she had always wanted, escaped all the blood politics and the bitter family wars in pureblood society. Maybe, if he had just been given a few more years to sort things out, he wouldn't have lost her at all.

Albus reentered the room with a small smile on his face, albeit a sad one.

"She's lovely, Peter. She's the spitting image of her mother."

"I know," Peter croaked. "She's an angel. I don't deserve her." A tear fell down his cheek and he hastily wiped it away. "Thank you, Albus, for talking to her. I didn't know what to say. I – I…" He sighed. "I just couldn't begin to know how to say it all out loud, to find the right words, to make myself admit them with those eyes on me. She has her mother's eyes exactly."

"It's quite all right, Peter," said Albus. "I never would have dreamed of putting you through that so soon after informing you of the news. But she had to be told, and I hope you can forgive me if you disagree with how I explained it…"

"No," Peter gasped through his sob. "No, Albus, you explained it perfectly. Thank you."

There was another silence, heavy and mournful as the two men merely kept each other company in their thoughts. It was what Peter needed. He felt so lost, so incredibly confused and shocked, as though Albus had told him that the world didn't exist and he was trying to wrap his brain around it, knowing he was sad but not really knowing anything other than that he felt this enormous sense of loss and his body wasn't sure why.

"You know," Albus mused, "if someone had told me when we were unsticking your thirteen-year-old selves that you two would become such a happily married couple, I would have thought they were drinking a very strong potion. That glare she gave you was rather something, wasn't it? But then, you always were the perfect match.

Peter sighed. They hadn't always been. Well, she had dated other boys, and plenty besides, but Peter had never given up on her from the moment he stuck their lips together. Even when she drove him up the wall, he was determined that she would love him someday. And he was foolish enough not to tell her that he loved her before she left. What a stupid thing to do. How incredibly short-sighted of him.

"I must be off, Peter," said Albus, "but if there's anything you need, never hesitate to ask me. The Potters wish me to pass on a similar sentiment. I ran into them on my way here and they had heard the news shortly after I did. She's gone, Peter, but you're not alone."

Peter nodded, forcing what he hoped was a brave smile onto his face, although his Gryffindor courage was surprisingly lacking in this time where he felt he needed it most. He led Albus into the hall, down toward the door.

"And to think, Albus," whispered Peter as he handed the old man back his cloak, "I almost lost her once, but not to Death. No, she almost married Alphard Black. Imagine, losing someone you love so much to a Black, of all people?"

"Oh, now, Peter," said Albus with a sigh, "there are black sheep in every family, even the Blacks. I don't think Alphard was ever really so bad. You probably would have rather liked each other, if you hadn't always wanted the same prize so very badly. But never forget, you did win. Aindora loved you very much."

"Yes," whispered Peter. "Yes, she did. And I suppose that's all that really matters, isn't it?"

**A/N: This one-shot goes with my baby, the series about Olivia Cromwell and Sirius Black, beginning with The Marauders Beginnings. If you like this, check them out! I'm not very far along right now, but I'll be writing many generations into the future, so if you like sagas and such, you're in for a long ride!**


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